Four years ago, struck by a strong case of Olympic fever, I drove 2.5 hours with some friends to jump on the ice and try curling. By the end of the day, I'd fallen hard on my butt more than a handful of times, successfully delivered zero of my shots to where I was aiming, and lost my first match.

And I was hooked.

Let me back up: I have always loved the Olympics. Winter, summer, it didn't matter, I was jazzed for two weeks every two years. In the summer, I'd constantly go running outside, and in the winter, my little sister and I would don socks and "ice skate" around our hardwood floors. I pretended to race a bobsled when I went tobogganing down an ice chute, commented a friendly cross-country ski race with some friends in high school, and one time even shoveled snow to create a hill we could ski down. I get Olympic fever, hard.

One sport never made any sense to me though, and that was curling. Groups of people pushing stones around while screaming each other and "sweeping" the ice? Talk of guards, hammers, takeouts, fast ice, slow ice? It was all a mystery to me.

So five years ago, I decided to figure out what all the fuss about curling was about.

I won't go into all the rules and strategy here (but this Insider article does a great job, if you're looking to learn the basics). It's a complicated game, best learned by doing or watching it nonstop during the Olympics. Instead, I'll share with you a list of why you shouldn't be intimidated by this mystifying sport, and why you should instead get on the ice.

There is an actual tradition called broomstacking, where everyone drops their brooms mid-game and goes to enjoy a drink together.

My first introduction to curling was at the Columbus Curling Club in Columbus, Ohio. It was a learn-to-curl clinic, which meant I'd simply spend a few hours, well, learning to curl. Before heading out on the ice, one of our instructors for the day prefaced by informing us that in curling, the winning team buys the losing team a drink.

In 2014, I moved to Alaska, and while there, I joined a curling league, and that's where I learned the camaraderie goes far past the post-match drink. Every Friday evening, I'd head to the curling club for the fun league, where my friends and I would play a new team each week. Although I can't say every team we played was down with the mid-game broomstack, the vast majority was more than happy to stack their brooms in a pile on the ice (hence the name) and head upstairs to enjoy a beer together finishing the match.

It's a great opportunity to make friends. Joe Fox

Curling is an amazingly social sport — and not just because alcohol's involved.

I'm down with a sport where the break involves a beer, but beyond that, curling routinely was one of the most welcoming communities I stepped into. As someone with social anxiety, joining any team gets me sweaty and anxious before I'm even exercising. In both Columbus and Fairbanks, though, club members went out of their way to help me feel comfortable. They patiently taught me rules, form, and strategy. If you catch a match on TV, you'll notice teammates have opportunities in between each throw to chat strategy. When you're playing on the amateur, fun level, that downtime is spent getting to know new folks.

What was nice for an anxiety-ridden person like myself was there was always an entry point for conversation. "How long have you been curling?" always yielded a great response. Some folks had been curling for years and could regale me with tales, while others were brand new like me and could share the appreciation for how much more there was to the sport than meets the eye (heads up, if you decide to give it a try, you might end up with some sore legs and arms the next morning).

Just look at the style and you can tell this sport doesn't take itself too seriously.

Do you think these guys take themselves too seriously? Dean Mouhtaropoulos / Staff

When I first walked into the Columbus Curling Club, my instructor for the day, a wonderfully cheerful man named Steve, was dressed in multi-color pants. Curlers take their sport seriously, don't get me wrong — that's why you'll see them timing their shots on the ice, sternly discussing strategy between throws, and shouting without abandon at their teammates to sweep. But they don't take it so seriously that they don't have fun with it every day, and that makes it a thoroughly approachable sport.

In Fairbanks, for example, they took the fun dress to a new level, holding bonspiels (or tournaments) with themes such as "The Big Lebowski" or the '80s. Even if you're not on the ice, it was worth hanging out at the club just to watch a team of men stressfully discuss their next throw while dressed as "the Dude."

Rebecca McKinsey

Of course, the style shouldn't psych you out either. For a usual day on the ice, you can literally wear anything that is comfortable to move around in. I've worn jeans, leggings, and sweatpants while curling, and my shoes have ranged from old chucks to my running shoes (the only important thing there is to make sure your shoes are super clean so nothing gets on the ice!).

So don't let the shouting you see on TV intimidate you. Like most winter sports, it isn't the cheapest (the learn to curl clinic I took in Columbus was around $60, while my club membership and league registration in Fairbanks totaled about $200), but I found it well worth my dollar.

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